Page 6 of Eloping with the Laird
‘How goes the hunt for a bride, my laird?’ Angus asked from deep within the chamber. His manservant blacked a pair of Rory’s leather boots, using the light from the westerly facing windows on the far side of the room. The familiar swish-swish of the brush and tang of soot and beeswax acted as a balm to his frayed nerves. Finding a wife was difficult work.
When Rory didn’t speak, the old man paused his work and set his steely eyes upon him. His furry, grey eyebrows furrowed as they had done a thousand times before. Angus had cared for Rory since he was but a wee lad. They had more of a father and son relationship, and Rory valued his wisdom as well as his candour.
‘Ye look like the devil, if ye don’t mind me sayin’.’ Angus set down the boot and brush on the window ledge, approached Rory and began helping him out of his overcoat.
Rory chuckled and winced as he twisted his torso to free himself from the woollen sleeves. ‘Aye, and I feel it, but it was for a worthy cause. Seems the laird’s daughter forgot about one of the most important rules of shooting.’
‘Oh?’ Angus eyed one of the new grass stains on Rory’s coat sleeve.
‘She walked headlong into the line of the target and almost got herself cleaved in two by an arrow.’
Angus paused and lifted his brow. ‘Surprised to hear a lass raised in these halls is no’ aware of such basic rules. Is she hurt?’
Rory shook his head. ‘Nay. I pushed her out of the way in time, but I may have bruised a rib or two from the fall.’ He winced as he tugged his tunic from his trews and glanced down. A dark purplish splotch was already forming on his side from where he’d landed.
‘Is she daft?’ Angus spat on the grass stain and scrubbed it in the material along the cuff.
Mrs Moira Fraser had seemed anything but. ‘I don’t believe so, but she proposed to me, so perhaps she is.’ He chuckled and walked further into the chamber decorated with dark wood and the rich hues of burnished reds and bronze that reminded him of the Highlands in autumn. He met his manservant’s slack-jawed gaze.
‘She...sheproposed toye? What do ye know.’ Angus’s eyes widened as if he’d just spied Cook pulling a tray of fresh black buns from the ovens at Blackmore.
‘Aye, she did. I had much the same response to her proposal.’ Rory sank into the large chair before the lit hearth. The warmth of the fire and the softness of the cushions soothed his throbbing limbs as it often did at this time of day. He allowed his head to loll back and his eyes to close. The ache in his muscles and joints a dull, rhythmic reminder of the curse he seemed unable to escape and of the limited time he had left to secure a continuation to the McKenna bloodline. Although he’d given up on any chance of happiness after his recent failed engagement, hecouldtry to secure his lineage.
‘And ye said...?’ Angus asked.
Rory smiled. ‘I said nothing, and she left. I was a bit shocked.’
‘Does she know of yer...erm...difficulties?’
Rory lifted his head and nodded. ‘Aye. My imminent death seems my most appealing quality.’ He tugged his cravat loose.
Angus stared blankly at him as if stricken by a palsy. Rory hoped he hadn’t given Mrs Fraser the same look upon her proposal, but most likely he had.
‘Seems she would prefer to marry a man with frailties and a short lifespan. I don’t understand it, but it’s what she claimed. There was something in the way that she spoke of her first husband that made her appear quite...fragile. It unsettled me. Perhaps he is the reason she desires a husband who will not live long.’ He leaned over and tugged off a boot.
The same flicker of protection and concern for her when she’d spoken of her late husband flamed within him once more. The way her features had tightened, and the hesitant pitch in her voice, told him more than any other words could. Her husband had not been the man he should have been. There seemed little doubt on that account, but would he be any better? He’d only become weaker and needier as the illness further claimed his body.
But the selfish, desperate part of him had sung at the feel of her soft, pliant, yet strong frame beneath him when they’d collided to the ground. She might bring him some whispers of happiness in his last few days of life as well as an heir, and his money and clan could protect her. It seemed more than what she had now, didn’t it? It was far more thanhehad now to be sure. He tugged off the other boot and let it clunk to the floor. Perhaps they could each be a brief means to an end for their less than desirable situations.
Or he could be making yet another poor decision led by his heart and be on the verge of making an arse of himself over a woman. Again. He frowned. The woman could be barren for all he knew and this a ruse. She’d had no child by her first marriage. This could be yet another bloody trap.
‘So, what is your plan?’ Angus gathered the boots at his feet.
‘I will speak with her further at the gathering for dinner. A private word will help me see how serious she is about her offer to marry. She may be under delusions as to my illness, and I don’t wish to have another...misunderstanding.’ He gritted his teeth at the memory of Lorna’s ‘misunderstanding’ which led to the end of their brief engagement last spring. Seemed she thought she could marry himandcarry on with other men. She was mistaken. He cast aside his cravat and ran a hand roughly through his hair. The memory of her limbs wrapped around another man at his own home made his abdomen lurch. Fidelity would be a requirement of his future wife. It was the only thing that could ensure his heir would be legitimate and that the McKenna name would continue on long after him.
‘Perhaps a rest before the evening meal, sir?’
Rory sucked in a breath and nodded, trying to quell the cramp that tightened and pulled his stomach. ‘Aye. Please rouse me in an hour.’
Rory leaned back in the large chair and propped his legs up on the small bench that acted as a footstool. He closed his eyes and took even breaths as he counted to five. After he reached the fifth round of counting, his abdominal spasm had subsided. He would use this evening to discover the truth as well as the charms of Mrs Moira Fraser. Although she didn’t appear to be the kind of woman to keep secrets or be deceptive, he’d been wrong before.
But he wouldn’t be fooled again. Even if he was a dying man.
Rory searched for Mrs Moira Fraser everywhere. He’d not had a chance to speak with her all night. They’d been on opposite ends of a long banquet table, and she’d been immersed in the attentions of a Laird Garrick Something-or-other.
After a long, tedious meal full of bland grouse and rather disappointing fig sauce, he needed to speak with her. He’d suffered through the idle chattering of a dull older woman he’d prefer to forget and an additional grating half hour of ramblings from the young MacIntosh lad on his clan’s new agricultural plans. He thought the poor sot would never cease talking. The lad was so eager to impress that he didn’t realise he’d made an arse of himself by telling a room of lairds and their sons the basic concepts regarding crop rotation they already knew. At least the whisky had helped to drown out some of the words.
Finding Mrs Moira Fraser would make the suffering of the evening worth it.Ifhe could locate her in this labyrinth of a castle before the eve was over.
